


But maybe not tonight.

by fleurdelaire



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/F, The Odyssey - Florence and the Machine, brief attempt at character study, grace hanson is an emotional mess, grace hanson's comfort sweater™, i dont even know what this is anymore, song: Delilah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 01:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdelaire/pseuds/fleurdelaire
Summary: Looking back, Grace saw some true in Brianna's words; she's never really tried to be unconditional with herself anyway.





	But maybe not tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I personally felt really sad that they didn't touch in Grace's reaction and process of getting used to Frankie's absence in the show, thus, this was born.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I really wanted to write something about Grace Hanson's comfort sweater.

_Love yourself, forgive yourself_  
_You can't love and forgive other people_  
_If you don't first of all love and forgive yourself_

( [_**Delilah**_ , Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZr5Tid3Qw4) )

* * *

 

 

Golden rays invaded the darkened room, a clear sign that it was _way_ past Grace's time to wake up. Usually, she would've to freshen up, wash her face to get rid of any remnant of sleep and head downstairs to start their breakfast. After the stroke, their morning routine had changed. It now held another weight to Grace altogether – it wasn't _just_ routine for her, something she did out of habit, _oh no_ … _it was so much more now_ ; _it was ritual_. Preparing Frankie’s breakfast became a way to _ground_ herself and get ready for the day ahead.

 _Frankie’s fine; Frankie is here – all is well_.

As foolish as that might sound, Frankie's ever vibrant, _at times chaotic_ , presence was the only solid thing in her life – _an ever fixed mark_ – and Grace couldn’t help herself but reach out for _her_ and _this_ ( _whatever this was_ ) _beautiful_ , precious and _oh so fragile_ , thing they shared. She supposed it was all Frankie’s fault – Frankie and her impossibly accurate perception of Grace’s feelings, Frankie and her _smiles_ and _hugs_ and _touches_ and, _God_ , her _stupid_ need to process things _together_. Feelings, and any other variation of them, weren’t exactly Grace’s forte, so she pushed and pushed Frankie away until she was sure she was back into her shell.

She knew she was breaking her _best friend’s_ heart like this – _as if the drinking and occasional verbal lash outs weren’t enough_ – building walls around herself to protect her own _selfish_ heart. Frankie had asked –   _no, begged_ –  Grace for her to talk with her, but all her attempts were shot down by Grace’s all business act that, eventually, she gave up trying.

_We'll talk about this in the morning... I guess._

It felt like a foreign kind of danger  – opening up and talking about these new feelings she did not fully understand, that is. There was so much she wanted to say, so many feelings she had to unpack with Frankie but wouldn’t dare. Looking back, Grace saw some true in Brianna's words; she's never really _tried_ to be unconditional with herself anyway. Never allowing herself to enjoy simple things in life, too focused on being too _perfect_ to be human. She knows for sure (and that saddens her) that she never really loved Robert, at least not in the way she should’ve loved. He was a safe choice, the right guy – the one she was supposed to want. Denying her own urges for something more – _someone else_ – had been nothing but natural to her and for forty years she _was happy enough_.

Getting up from her bed seems like an unfortunate odyssey, it takes too much effort and once she’s sitting up her head starts spinning – her own treacherous body baring its’ weakness to anyone with eyes to see. But the space beside her is empty, as empty as the house and – _oh_ , _right_ – the studio; _Frankie’s studio_. After the stroke, and Grace’s _ridiculous_ display of jealousy that could easily rival a teenager’s behaviour, and only then she had started to _hate_ Jacob – _now, don’t get me wrong_ , she knew none of this was his fault. She meant it when she said it, _Jacob was a really nice guy_ – he was _perfect_ for Frankie in ways Grace could only aspire to be.

Perhaps she didn’t really hate him as a person, _she barely knew him for that_ , but she was certain she hated the fact he was _so fucking lucky_ – the luckiest man alive. He got to go to bed with Frankie and hold her whilst she was asleep, he was the one kissing away the fear from her mind – and mostly importantly, _he was the one who got to spend the rest of his life beside Frankie_ , a role that Grace had been foolish enough to believe that was entitled to her.

A scoff escaped her lips before she could stop herself – the bitterness of her thoughts mixed themselves with the sick feeling in her stomach as she made her way to the bathroom. There were no rituals today, no grounding or breakfast – Frankie had left to chase her own happiness and Grace would be damned if she tried to put the blame of her own dismay on her friend. She knew, by heart ( _or whatever was left of it_ ), that everything that was happening to her was a mere series of consequences – she was the one digging the hole she was in. She’s been digging for so long that she’s not even sure she can stop anymore.

Her stomach complained, reminding Grace that she was still _alive_ , human, and that her body needed some _kindness_ even though she kept on denying it. Her body moved on its own accord, throwing her clothes to the cold floor as she discarded them from her limp body. Her body was numb and yet she could feel when her stomach twirled again – was it hunger or sickness, she couldn’t be sure, it was hard to tell the difference after so many years – and when the boiling hot water touched her body, making her whimper in pain as her sore muscles tried to relax. Falling asleep on her face and on her jeans wouldn’t cause much fuss twenty years ago, but now her body felt stiff and frail and so ready to collapse that Grace had to lean her hands on the wall to avoid an eventual fall.

It’s been a week since _she’s_ been gone; only _seven_ days and Grace’s life already was a mess once again, just like when Robert left her – _except that more_. This time she would have to face this alone, this time she didn’t have a warm shoulder to lean on. The kids, poor dears, meant well – with their surprise visits through the week that had only caused Grace to snap at them. The first few days she had been successful to keep up with her stony facade, smiling as they offered her sorry looks when they thought she couldn’t see them. By the fourth day – after a nasty set of words thrown at Mallory and Bud when they pressed her to open up – she had given up trying to pretend everything was okay. Nothing was okay, she admitted to their shock, but still she assured them she had everything under her control.

 _Damn Frankie and her processing shit._ Even since she moved with her, there she was – insisting, asking for Grace to open up and crawl out of her shell of locked emotions. _And with time, she did_. She had a slow start, _baby steps as they say_ , sharing a bit of _this_ and _that_ , thinking it was a progress in their friendship. But only now, after losing her housemate, she really saw it for what it truly was. All that _processing_ and _hippy_ _bullshit_ wasn’t for Frankie’s sake, _it was for her own._ In the past, she would’ve dealt with this situation in her _Grace Hanson style_ – which consisted in drinking _copious_ amounts of alcohol and buying expensive jewellery – but now? She needed to talk, with someone – anyone that wasn’t Frankie or _their_ kids. The thought of opening up to Robert and Sol wasn’t all comforting, but who else she had left? Sure, she could _try_ and play the strong icy lady, she had years of training in that art, but she wouldn’t. It wasn’t enough; after getting a small taste of happiness, being ‘ _happy enough_ ’ wasn’t enough for her anymore. She wasn’t getting any younger and her days of pretending were done – _she could allow herself to be sad if she felt sad._

Once the water’s warmth became too much for comfort – _who knew how long she had been there_ , it’s not as if a certain _kooky artist_ would barge in and tell her there was a drought, completely ignoring the fact that the other woman was _naked_ – Grace finished her shower with a sense of _dread_ in her heart. She didn’t feel like putting on make up and high heels today. Instead, she went for a plain white shirt, sweatpants and her favourite comfort sweater – a _sand-ish_ wool something that had seen better days.

Slowly making her way downstairs, Grace found herself lost in thought. If Frankie was here, she’d frown at Grace’s state. If Frankie was here, she’d hurry be her side and go make her some tea ( _not peyote though_ , they had agreed to never do that again) and maybe even try and make her eat some of her Del Taco leftover. But then again, _if Frankie was here_ … Grace wouldn’t be standing in the living room, hair still wet from the shower, for the first time in years not giving a flying fuck about anything. A noise cut her musings short, her phone. It was probably yet another message from Nick who – she had no idea how – had gotten her number and have been pestering her for a date even since they met.

She half considered answering his text when Sheree’s call made her think twice. She had cancelled her appointment for the second time in a row, it was no wonder the woman was worried. The chatted for a bit, agreeing to meet for lunch some day in the following week. By the time Grace had finished the call her stomach had decided it was definitely hunger she had been feeling, so she fried an egg and some of that horrible fake bacon Frankie had left behind. _Out of habit_ , she only ate half of her portion and – even though she was still hungry – she went for fridge and got out the half empty bottle of vodka, already planning on spending her entire noon in a quasi-drunk abyss.

She never really had drinks this early in the afternoon, but since she had to wait for Frankie’s daily call, she might as well just make a few drinks to pass the time whilst she packs as many vibrators as she can, without causing her arthritis to flare up. The calls, for as brief as they were, were enough to cheer her up. For thirty solid minutes it felt as if nothing had changed. _Of course_ it was hard to sum up a happy voice but she managed just fine - and Frankie never asked why Grace's voice trembled slightly at the end of their calls when they said goodbyes. She would tell her about her life in Santa Fe and, in turn, Grace would update Frankie on how the kids were doing and how their business was at the moment. Frankie, _ever so subtle_ , asked if Grace was _taking care of herself_ – _in all ways possible_ – and Grace could only _hope_ Jacob was nowhere near her when she told Frankie that, _yes, she was taking care of herself in that department as well_.

She ends the call at eight (and it’s weird that now Frankie sleeps so early) with countless ‘nighty-nights’ from her friend, as usual and heads back upstairs. Her wrist is dangerously tender but still, somehow (after two hours laying in bed waiting for her pills to kick in), she manages to reach of her vibrator and lube and makes the third call of the day, _this time for her cousin_.

It shames her how easy she is and how quickly she gets that sparkle of pleasure – she ought to feel bad for doing this soon after she called Frankie, but the woman’s voice had started doing things to her even since they shared the bed for the first time. She should fee bad for that, but oh well, she can’t muster such feeling as it doesn’t feel wrong, thinking of Frankie in _that_ way. As soon as she’s done and has cleaned up the mess, she goes to sleep without further ado.

It is a slow process, getting used to her life as it is now. She makes a vow of trying to cut down a bit her drinking and get back in touch with her family. She can’t say she knows what she’s doing, or if all her efforts are helping at all… but – _for the first time in seventy plus years_ – she’s willing to try and _forgive_ herself for all her faults and mistakes, not just for her own sake, but for Frankie’s and their kids as well. For now, she rests her head on her pillow and allows herself a moment of weakness and lets the tears fall, knowing that even though _Frankie is not here, she’s fine, she’s got Jacob – and Grace?_ She is going to _heal_ , _eventually_ , and she’s going to be _fine_.

_But maybe not tonight._


End file.
